While in the early stages of my PhD fieldwork, I was sexually assaulted by a member of the community where I was conducting my work. I had just met this man while making contacts to do my research, and thought he seemed friendly. He took advantage of my vulnerability as a lone female student, and when we next met, he pursued me after I made clear I was not interested. I struggled against him until he decided I was not worth the trouble, and resorted to calling me a lesbian. He let me go – but not before reminding me that he knew where I was staying.
I did not have a full sense of how alone I was until this happened. I was in a remote town, thousands of miles and several days from home. It does not matter exactly where; it could have been anywhere. I had good working relationships there, but I did not know where to turn.
Shortly after it happened, a neighbour told me that this man had a history of violence and was someone to avoid. I was afraid that saying anything to anyone would escalate the situation and spell the end of my research. Besides, everything I’d been taught about fieldwork – that it should be tough and I’d better know how to handle myself – told me to forget it had ever happened. I felt ashamed.